She nodded at my notepad. “Anything good?”

  I flipped to a fresh page and said, “No, just scribbles.”

  Sara put on her headset and turned to her screen. “How are the calls?”

  There was no point in lying, but that didn’t stop me. “Good.”

  “It’ll turn around. You just have to stick with it.”

  Sara and her optimism. It’s what got her here, that belief that things would get better, she’d eventually be reunited with her brother.

  “I, uh, had a good time with you and Danny,” I said.

  Sara was on another call. I looked down at the desk, wondering why I had to be such a creep, picturing her lips on mine.

  Sara spun in her chair, mouthed, “Me too.”

  It made me smile. Sara spun back, telling a woman how there were only three units left. I started to pick up the phone, but one more hang up, one more stop calling, and I was going to lose it.

  Carlos’s door was closed. I picked up the pencil, not sure what I’d draw. Something I could share, not be ashamed of, like Sunny.

  My hand got moving, etched the outline of Sara’s desk. She was looking at her screen, a perfect model with her hair pulled back, her gentle face no longer hidden.

  I did her hair quick, a bundled brown ponytail. Her eye was six o’clock sky blue, her nose with that small bump. I shaded her lips the lightest red, even though I’d never seen her with anything on them.

  Two soft lines for her chin, the side of the pencil to color the turtleneck. Her shoulders and arms were next. I hesitated, not sure what to do. Her scars were a dull pink under the fluorescent, none looking newer than a decade. I thought of leaving them off because that part of her life was behind her. But that seemed dishonest, fake, too much like a half-truth. It’d be like drawing Mom holding Dad’s hand.

  I carefully nicked a few lines on Sara’s arm, made it so they were barely there. The picture wasn’t complete so I filled in some shadows, added the tinge of red to her cheeks. I had to make her smile a bit bigger too, like the moment she saw Danny after processing.

  I took my time tearing it out of the pad, folding it in half. I felt like a first grader on Valentine’s when I got up and handed it to her. “Sorry about…sorry.” I quickly walked back to my desk.

  Sara tried to keep the woman on the line, but lost her. She took the paper, opened it up, and didn’t say a word. She couldn’t pretend it wasn’t her with all the tiny scars.

  Sara sounded so young when she said, “I can put on my coat if it bothers you too much.”

  “Oh, God no. No. Please. I’m sorry. You look great. I was just…I didn’t…”

  She leaned back in her chair, but we were still in range, no reason to lie. “Some people prefer I cover up. I don’t blame them.”

  “Sara, they’re idiots. If they don’t like the way you look, they’re blind. You’re beautiful.”

  She kept looking at her arms. “Oh yes, gorgeous.”

  “Your scars just show you survived.” I took my time looking at her, letting her know everything I said was true. “They show you’ve been through some bad shit.” That wasn’t what I meant to say. I wanted to make her feel good, to let her know I loved that she was showing them to me.

  She must have heard me because Sara’s cheeks got a bit more colorful. “Thanks.”

  “I mean it. I’m just telling you… I don’t know. It’s just a drawing.”

  “And I like it.” Sara taped it to the wall where we could both see it.

  “You don’t have to put it up.”

  Sara smiled and swiveled toward me. “It’s mine, right?”

  I said it was, heard Sara thinking maybe I was a nice guy. Then she hoped I wasn’t going to start thinking.

  It was too late, my pad turned back to Sunny.

  Five days of injections hadn’t made a difference so Dr. Gentry started her on an IV, strapping Sunny down so she didn’t pull it out. She wanted to fight, to run. She wanted to go hiking. She wanted to pull my dirty socks out of the hamper and play tug of war until they were reduced to rags. She wanted to wait until Mom turned off the lights and locked my door so she could jump on my bed and snuggle into the warm spot beneath my arm, little snores all night long.

  Demarius, this huge black telepath, who worked security for the building, was suddenly standing beside my desk. His wrap-around sunglasses and crisp uniform said he had power, but this was Brightside. No one had any control over anything.

  “Damn, Joe,” Demarius said. “You cool?”

  I had no idea how long he’d been standing there or what he’d heard. Lying was pointless so I just shrugged.

  Demarius took a step back and sat down on the edge of Sara’s desk like he was planning on having a deep conversation. “You need someone to talk to?”

  I knew he meant Sharon, but felt like testing him. I turned my pad so he could see the drawing. “Let’s talk about how I wouldn’t let her die.”

  “You need to clear your head, Homie.”

  Demarius shook his head and left the room. He didn’t want to hear how Dr. Gentry had to operate on my birthday.

  * * *

  Both of Dr. Gentry’s receptionists looked down, saw who it was, and looked away. Mary Ann, the one with braces, picked up the phone that hadn’t rung. Jessica, the freckled redhead, got up, went into the back. I hoped they were being nice, trying not to stare at my sweat circles. I’d jogged all the way from school to have an extra five minutes with Sunny, to tell her she’d be okay.

  Someone thought they were being funny with the time cards. The pink one Dr. Gentry made special for me was up on the top slot, way out of reach.

  But that was nothing next to Dr. Gentry. He’d pass me in the waiting room and let his thoughts fill my head. Images of Mom’s sweaty body underneath him. He knew I wanted to punch him, knew every violent thought flowing through my mind. He’d just smile, because there was nothing I could do. He held Sunny’s life in his hands. I just had to grit my teeth and take it.

  Pamela was at the end of the hall looking like a Q-tip with her rail-thin body and puffy blonde perm. Even if she wasn’t busy moving stuff around in the cupboard, she wasn’t the person to ask for help. Pamela was one of those people that smiled real big all the time. The kind of smile people give when they’re really just holding back a scream.

  After a few minutes, the exam room’s door swung open. Nancy headed down the hall looking at her clipboard.

  Nancy was the only one who could weigh the big dogs. She knew others laughed behind her back because she looked like a man, but that didn’t stop her from always smiling, real ones nothing like Pamela’s.

  I was so glad to see her. I wanted her to be the one to give the good news about Sunny, that she was all better like a miracle. Nancy would have loved to say that. She didn’t think I was just a stupid kid who got in the way. She didn’t think Sunny wasn’t important. She thought Sunny would be okay.

  I waved Nancy down and pointed at the pink card. “Can you help me?”

  She tried to smile, but it crumpled. It took her a moment to start talking, then all she said was follow her. She walked past all the tables, the place quieter than ever, everyone’s eyes trained on their patient or tool or each other.

  Nancy turned around in front of the door to the last operating room. She put both arms around me and pulled me close. She didn’t say a word.

  It was hard to breathe with my mouth smushed against her chest, but Nancy kept hugging. She wanted to take the pain away. She knew it wasn’t fair.

  Nancy couldn’t say she was sorry, but she was, her eyes wet when she stood and walked away.

  Everything got super quiet, the occasional beep and buzz too loud. The door was wood with a big window too high to look through.

  The door pushed in, squealed the whole way back. Everything was dark. Then I flipped on the switch and it was way too bright, Sunny curled up on the table like she did in that space below my arm. The place that’d be empty forever.

  I lowered the lights so they were just barely on. I stepped to the table. Sunny smelled like she did the first day I got her. Her fur was soft except for all the parts shaved off. They’d given her a bath and closed her eyes. The eyes that’d showed so much love no matter what.

  This was the last time to see Sunny. Last time to pick her up, hug her tight, let her know she’d be missed every day.

  My tears fell on Sunny’s face, bounced off the bright collar that never got a chance to get old. From the other room, Nancy said, “He’s in here, Mr. Nolan”

  The door opened then closed. Dad didn’t get off work before five but he was stepping up right behind me. “I’m sorry, Joe,” he said. “I really am.”

  Crying made it too hard to talk. There were no words to say. Everything hurt and it always would. Nothing would make that better.

  Dad put his hands on my shoulders to keep them from shrugging up and down. In a way he hadn’t said it before, Dad said, “Control it, Joe.”

  I was trying to, but Dr. Gentry had killed Sunny. I knew it.

  “I know this hurts. It hurts me too,” Dad said. He walked around so I could see the sadness behind his glasses. “But it’ll pass and you’ll get over it.”

  Not this. Not Sunny.

  “Stop shaking your head and listen to me.” He held my chin because I didn’t. “You’re feeling a lot of things right now, but you need to relax.” He bent down, got eye to eye. “You’re sad. Scared. Alone. Pissed off. At God. At Dr. Gentry. Your mom. Me.”

  I couldn’t stop sobbing. Sunny was dead. “Look at her.”

  Dad raised his voice to cover my crying, not because he was mad. “Understanding what you’re feeling is the first step, but naming it’s not enough. Then you got to think about it. Rationalize it. Use logic.”

  Logic said Sunny was dead. Always would be. Just a piece of meat.

  “Stop it, Joe.” Dad went back to holding my shoulders. “You’re feeling an emotion that you’re in control of. It’s your brain. If you want to be happy, you can choose to be happy.” Dad’s brown eyes were getting shiny behind his glasses. “If you decide to be angry, that’s how you’ll be. It works in degrees and won’t always get rid of what you’re feeling. Lots of times it’s just postponing it, but that’s alright.”

  Dad put his hand on Sunny’s head, the other on my hand. “There’ll be plenty of times where you can think about Sunny and miss her. Way too many times. Then you can cry all you want.” Dad checked over his shoulder and turned back, his face all hard. “But don’t ever do it in front of that prick.”

  Dad stood and pointed at the table.

  The table was cold, too cold to put Sunny on. The whole room was cold and smelled funny. She couldn’t just lie there by herself.

  Dad said my name real slow. “Knock it off and put her down.”

  Sunny went down all relaxed, legs going out each way. Her nose was cold, not wet, no more snores.

  “One more kiss and that’s it. It’s better that way,” Dad said. He knew it was true, thinking of holding his first dog, Brutus, while the shivering pooch threw up its insides trying to get rid of the poison.

  I gave Sunny one final kiss on top of her head and turned my back on her.

  Dad took off his glasses just long enough to wipe his eyes. “I’m proud of you. That’s what it means to be a man. It’s easier to be controlled by sadness and fear, hatred and jealousy, and all that other bullshit than it is to control them.”

  The man talking right then wasn’t the same man that came home after work every day. This one was someone to look up to.

  There were no more goodbyes, we just went right through the door, into the main room, right past Donny who thought it was pretty queer for me to be holding hands with my dad. Past Felicia who said she was sorry, thought poor kid, that dog never had a chance.

  At the counter, Jessica said sorry, too, like it could make it all better. And maybe it did a little because she really meant it, her bottom lip shaking because Sunny looked like her Princess.

  I tried to say thanks, but it came out all mumbled.

  Jessica understood. She said to take care. Then Dr. Gentry came out of the consultation room. He said he was sorry but didn’t sound it. “Go ahead and take tomorrow off, too.”

  Instead of running out the front door like my after-work dad, Dad stood right there and put his hand on my shoulder. “Joe won’t be finishing up.”

  Gentry went red, used his I’m-not-mad voice. “It’ll be good for your boy to learn the value of hard work and fulfilling promises.”

  “He already knows both of those.”

  “You have any idea how much that dog cost us?”

  “Well, it wasn’t enough so we’re leaving.” Dad turned for the door. “And if you have a problem with that why don’t you take it up with my wife? I’m sure you’ll be talking to her.”

  Dr. Gentry thought of Mom bent over his desk.

  I don’t think Dr. Gentry even saw my dad’s fist before it sent him crashing to the floor.

  We left. The door swooshed shut, Dad’s rusty red Tercel parked at the curb. Dad opened the passenger door for me. “And just so we’re clear, I said try to control your emotions. I didn’t say it always works.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Demarius had a big mouth. Day 66, he heard me thinking about Belinda, the woman who lived in my apartment before me. Everyone said Belinda seemed nice. Kept to herself. I never met her, but every time I saw my tub, all I wanted to know was what she was thinking.

  That tub was the reason for my two-minute showers, why I did most of my washing at the sink. I’m not superstitious or any of that, but I didn’t like going in there. I had too good of an imagination.

  Was the water real warm, your body relaxed? Had you always known it was the right thing to do? Did you question it when you held that razorblade? When you realized all you needed was sixty cents of steel? Not even that because all you really needed was that tiny little tip. Just dig it in and drag it back. And let it go. Let yourself flow away because you finally did it. You did what you should have done such a long time ago.

  Demarius told Sharon everything. He had to. It was the rule. The Council said everyone had to report thoughts of suicide. It wasn’t to be taken lightly. Too many people had died. Some ended up in wheelchairs, like Paul.

  Paul said he was up on the roof because he used to be a gymnast. He liked the freedom. The total control. He said he slipped, caught his toe on the ledge. He said someone’d have to be crazy to do what he did, risk ending up like him, confined to a wheelchair.

  But everyone knew better. Paul couldn’t control his thoughts, the truth rolling around in that damaged brain. His wheelchair was electric. He controlled it with his mouth. He worked in the same building as me. The Council created a special job to keep him busy. No one knew what he actually did. Everyday he’d just roll around in his fancy chair. He had a live-in caretaker, who’d dress him in a black sweat suit and matching baseball cap to cover the part of his skull permanently sunk in. I didn’t know Paul before the fall. Didn’t know if his eyes were always bugged out like that or if that was just the way anyone’s would be after freefalling eighty feet.

  * * *

  Sharon told me to take a seat, then said, “I know it’s difficult.”

  “I’m not suicidal.”

  Joe…

  I got loud when I said, “I’m not. Yes, I thought about Belinda. But she killed herself in my bathroom. It was just a thought.”

  “Calm down.”

  “I’m not going to kill myself.”

  Sharon nodded. “I understand.”

  “Is that something you have to say? That’s what they teach you?”

  “I don’t say it unless it’s true.”

  Sharon had seen me at my lowest, heard my darkest thoughts. I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I couldn’t stop myself. “This is a fucking joke. You love it here.”

  “Not all the time.”

  “Well, you act like you do. Is it better in Brightside because you didn’t leave anyone behind? No one back home gives a shit about you?”

  You prick.

  I felt like crawling into the chair.

  Sharon opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and cleared her throat. After a second, she regained her composure and said, “I left everyone.”

  Neither of us said a word. There were no pictures up. I’d figured her a lonely workaholic.

  “Six years Tom and I were married,” she said. “Abby just turned one.”

  I looked away from those eyes, down to her wedding finger, the white circle of skin.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Sharon said. “No one here knows.”

  I couldn’t get over how she could keep that from everyone.

  “I don’t think about them during the day,” she said. “And no one’s ever asked. No one asks me anything.”

  I said I was sorry. “Look, it was just a thought. Are you saying you’ve never even had the thought?”

  “We’re not here about me.”

  Again Sharon slipped. Thought about the first time she’d swallowed that bottle of pills, before she found meditation, inner peace.

  For the first time, Sharon showed she was just as broken as the rest of us. I felt sorry for her, especially as that stupid mantra hummed in her head.

  She sat up straight. “Let’s talk about your parents, about your mom.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “But you hold so much anger.”

  “Pretty sure every kid does.”

  “You’re not a kid.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I think it’s time you give them a call.”

  “Why?”

  “To get closure.”

  “Closure?”

  “You need to let go.”

  “Fine. Sure. Whatever. I’ll call my parents. Can I go now?”

  Sharon bit her lip. She’d let me into her mind, all those sad moments. She wanted me out of the room. She said, “Go down to the first floor to pick up a prepaid cell.” She filled out a form, gave it to me.